


Trauma With Tintin

by 4332



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28626033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4332/pseuds/4332
Summary: A collection of Tintin oneshots than centers on a certain aspect of trauma or its effects. Every story will have a 'deconstruction' of sorts. Haddock and Tintin's relationship here is of a father and son. Please enjoy, and read at your own risk.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: There are going to be 2 editions of every story I'll post in this collection: one suited for reading pleasure, and the second a 'deconstruction' of the fanfic, where I basically critique and point out my research for reference.
> 
> Basically a writer's deconstruction.
> 
> Please enjoy and leave a comment or two.

_**Trauma with Tintin:** _ **NIGHTMARES**

"Ah, it's good to be back home," Haddock sighed, sipping a glass of whiskey as he reclined in a folding chair in his yard. Marlinspike couldn't have looked any better, bathing in the sun as it is, casting its shadow down on them. It'd been a taxing month, with all the adventures that came with a certain ginger-haired young lad.

Looking across the lawn, Haddock watched Tintin and Snowy chase each other, tumbling onto the grass before getting up and running again. They jostled and bumped each other, somehow always ending up on the ground, Snowy on Tintin, attacking him with a shower of licks.

"Stop! Stop it, Snowy I can't–!"

Then Tintin would burst into laughter again.

It was hard to believe that, only weeks ago, Haddock was dragging him out of a sea of polyester, begging him to wake up and breathe…

Haddock shook his head and grinned, chasing the thought away. How could he think of that now? Everything was all right, by thunder. He has enough problems managing his estate without all _that_.

Tintin came up to him, wiping sweat from his forehead, Snowy tailing him as usual. "Is everything all right, captain?"

"Never been better, lad, never been better."

How couldn't it be? The sun was shining, the sky was a beautiful shade of blue, and they were at Marlinspike, at home.

Safe and sound.

* * *

When Haddock woke up in the middle of the night to a cry of terror, he knew at once that everything was _not_ all right. He leaped out of the bed, stumbling down the dark corridors towards the direction of Tintin's room. Already he could hear Snowy's barking, and it chilled him how easily he found his way to the lad's room. His body must've memorized the path going there.

"Tintin, what's going on? Robbers? Vagabonds? _Assassins_?" Haddock swung open the door and found Tintin wide awake, sitting up in bed and breathing hard. Snowy was already beside him, nuzzling his side to try and calm his master down.

"It's a dream, only a dream, ohh..." Tintin said, burying his face into his hands.

Haddock gathered him up into a tight embrace, running his hand through Tintin's hair. "Yes, it's all right now, shh." Gently he began cradling him back and forth like a child, humming under his breath to try and soothe Tintin's nerves. And somehow, though he would not admit it, it settled him as well. Eventually, slowly, gradually, Tintin's breathing slowed, his heart lulled back into a regular rhythm and the terror drained from his face.

Gulping, Tintin nodded thanks.

"What is it _this_ time?" Haddock asked.

"Mud."

"What?"

"I was in the forest with Snowy." As if recognizing his name, Snowy bounded up onto Tintin's lap and sat there. A smile, then Tintin continued with his story. "We were running from–from a crocodile chasing us. He was fast–then I stumbled into quagmire–I got trapped–it pulled me under and I couldn't breathe–I couldn't call for help and—"

He took a deep breath in, then sank back into his bed, his arm shielding his eyes. "I don't even know anymore. This is..."

"Confounded?" Haddock offered. "Must be that program you watched at—what—10:00 pm? Son, you've got to let up those travel shows and get to sleep earlier. See what's happening to you!"

Lifting his arm from his face, Tintin smiled. "I feel better now," he said. His voice was tired, hoarse. "You can go back to sleep now, captain."

"By thunder, I'm not going until you get back to sleep, son."

"Captain, I can take care of myself. Go back to bed, I'll be _fine_."

With a mutter Haddock left, leaving Tintin alone in the darkness again. Snowy was lying on his stomach, and he let him stay there for a while, partly for the warmth and partly for the company.

He hated worrying Haddock. For some reason the solemn verdict that the doctor had given after their brief sojourn on the moon kept echoing in his mind whenever he saw the captain under stress.

_Less whiskey and smoking should do him fine, with a lot of rest. No more adventures, do you understand? His heart is not as strong as it was, no matter what he tells you. Oh, and one more thing, please keep him out of trouble, will you? Stress might trigger a heart attack and, well..._

Words kindly spoken and even more kindly meant. Yet here they were, gnawing at him, making him worry even more about Haddock, much more so than himself.

Tintin thought that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, but the night lulled him into another troubled, disturbed slumber, the lingering thoughts of death and bereavement whirring faintly in his mind.

* * *

The next night, Tintin switched the television on, Haddock by his side.

"No more of that blasted program, you understand?"

"Yes, captain."

He lazily flipped through the channels until he found one narrating the history of a certain country. Seeing this, he perked up.

Tibet.

Tintin's mind began to recall that fateful journey to find Tchang, wandering off to one of those cursed winter nights, huddling for shelter from the snow...

* * *

The snow-capped mountains should've awed Tintin, but not today. It'd felt like an eternity, merely climbing the mountain, not to mention reaching the crash site, and now he was exhausted. So was Haddock, who, as soon as he'd gotten his sleeping bag ready and tied the tarp around the airplane's skeleton, had fallen asleep, gently snoring. He and Tharkey had taken the head of the plane, Tintin taking the tail.

"Come on, Snowy."

Snowy had the teddy bear they found earlier in his mouth, shaking it and toying with it. When he heard his master's call, though, he headed right back, curling on top of Tintin, head poking just above the blanket. They went to sleep.

At least, Snowy did.

Tintin had no such luck.

Sure, he fell asleep soon after out of fatigue, but he mustn't have tied the tarp right–he kept waking up in the night to it flapping and billowing from the wind, and he'd had to get up, tie it, and go back to sleep. Even if he knew in his mind that he had to rest for tomorrow, he couldn't push through with the action. Eventually, though, his body took over and more or less shut him down.

_Tintin sat in the pilot's seat of an airplane, tied tight, the ropes digging into his body. He saw the pilot leap out of the doomed vessel, leaving him alone._

_No one was there–not even Snowy._

_This wasn't the first time this happened, and Tintin's mind started to rush in fast-forward, shouting orders to his body on what they had to do. Take control, try to keep in flight, find a strip of land. Keep head clear._

_Still, his body could not, would not move. At every move he could hear his bones grinding together in a sickening, crunching sound, but there was no pain–only stiffness. An unbearable stiffness that had nothing to do with the ropes holding him down._

_His breath came in short gasps, his ribcage shuddering with each gasp. Looking up at the glass before him, he saw the snow-capped mountains of Tibet, rising up faster and faster to meet him—_

Tintin's eyes flew open and he choked back a scream and turned it into a quiet whimper of distress.

_SafesafeI'msafe_

He sat up and pulled his blanket closer, noticing only now how cold he was. Glancing to his side, he saw Snowy rouse, blink at him, then go straight back to sleep. Lucky dog.

"I guess animals don't get insomnia, do they?" Tintin muttered, then looked at the tarp, blowing freely in the thrashing wind.

* * *

After a while Tintin had managed to master his nightmares, managing to only take a gasp and abandon the screaming. This gave Haddock the illusion that, maybe, Tintin's night terrors had finally passed.

"Having better nights now?" Haddock had asked Tintin one morning at breakfast. "No more confounded dreams?"

"Not anymore. I think I've shaken it off at last." Tintin smiled.

Haddock completely believed him.

That is, until after their trip to Syldavia.

With all the cursed chasing around alleyways and streets, Haddock was satisfied to lean back in his hammock, looking out over his grounds. It was a less-than-perfect day, with the sun shaded by the clouds bathing everything in a dull, greyish atmosphere. The cold breezes chilled his old bones, and after a while he'd had to pack his things up and head back into the much warmer interior of Marlinspike.

"Where's Tintin?" Haddock asked, hanging his coat on one of the hooks near the door. "Is he off on another adventure? That lad, never gets tired..."

Nestor blinked, clutching what looked like a bowl of water. "Don't you know, sir?" he asked dryly.

"Know? Know what?"

"Mm. Tintin isn't awake yet, sir."

"What do you mean? He wakes up _hours_ earlier than I do." _Something's wrong._ "I'll go wake him up."

"But–"

Haddock walked past Nestor, who was, yet again, ignored. Reaching Tintin's room, he swung the door open–

"Good morning, captain!"

–and saw the lad calmly reading a book, Snowy by his side. Perfectly normal.

Haddock let himself a small sigh of relief. "Come, lad, you got me worried. Sleeping in?"

"It's _Saturday_. And I don't have any deadlines yet or new reports, so..."

"Taking advantage of the break while it's still there?"

Tintin smiled–a little faintly, Haddock suddenly noticed. "Is everything all right?"

A pause. "Yes, of course," Tintin said, a confused expression on his face. "Why?"

Haddock eyed him suspiciously, then shrugged.

* * *

Night came.

Haddock was dreaming about the sea and guns when Nestor came knocking on his door at about 11:00 in the night.

"Sir?" More knocking. "Sir–"

Groaning, he opened his door. "Blistering barnacles, do you know what time it is?"

"It's Tintin."

"What about him?"

"His fever, sir. It's getting worse."

Haddock did a double-take. "His _what_? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because Tintin said that he was all right, sir, and–"

Haddock pushed past Nestor, who froze in place. He raced down the halls and swung open the door to Tintin's room, barging in as quietly as possible without waking the boy. "Get me a chair, Nestor," he ordered, pressing the back of his hand to Tintin's forehead. Hissing, he pulled it away.

If Tintin didn't look too sick a few hours ago, he did now.

Sweat matted his hair, his cheeks flushed pink from the heat. He was muttering in his sleep, something within the lines of "I'm fine, I'm fine" before drifting off into a deeper and more troubled slumber. His fists curled around the blanket draped over him.

"Here's your chair, sir–"

"About time! Get me a bowl of cold water and a towel. And the doctor–get him here."

"Yes, sir."

As the night wore on, Tintin grew more and more agitated. Sooner than later, Nestor came with the bowl of water and a towel.

"The doctor will not be able to come until tomorrow morning, sire," Nestor said. "but he will come as soon as he can."

"Tomorrow?! Blistering barnacles, we can't wait until tomorrow!"

Huffing, Haddock periodically dabbed Tintin's face with the damp towel to try and cool him down. Even then Tintin was still restless, until finally, in the middle of the night, he was screaming.

"NOSTOPICAN'TDOTHISIDON'TWANTTODIEHELPME!"

The words spilled out of his mouth as one, and Haddock was chilled for good reason. He knew, though, that it was almost impossible to wake Tintin in the middle of a nightmare, and he had to sit by and endure the earsplitting cries. Eventually, if the nightmare was horrifying enough, he'd wake up.

Still...

"It's all right, it's all right, son, Haddock's here," he said, clutching Tintin's hand.

For a moment Tintin's face contorted into a stricken expression and it seemed as if he was going to wake up.

Haddock was tempted to slap his face.

Then the tension drained from Tintin's face and his body relaxed, his breathing slowing down to a normal rhythm. After a few minutes, Tintin opened his eyes and gazed wearily around the room until it settled on Haddock. "Captain."

So quiet and still.

Haddock ran his thumb over Tintin's knuckles and ruffled his hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful."

That got a chuckle out of him. At least he was honest this time.

"You'll be all right, son." _You always have been._

"Thanks, captain."

_We'll be okay. We always have been._

_Nothing can ever_ _change that._


	2. Nightmares: The Deconstruction

_**Trauma with Tintin:** _ **NIGHTMARES: The Deconstruction (or Commentary)**

"Ah, it's good to be back home," Haddock sighed, sipping a glass of whiskey as he reclined in a folding chair in his yard. Marlinspike couldn't have looked any better, bathing in the sun as it is, casting its shadow down on them. It'd been a taxing month, with all the adventures that came with a certain ginger-haired young lad. 

**_(At least_ I _think it's ginger. With all the different colors Tintin's hair has gone through the years, I had to stick with ginger—It also seems the color of choice between Tintin fanfiction writers.)_**

Looking across the lawn, Haddock watched Tintin and Snowy chase each other, tumbling onto the grass before getting up and running again. They jostled and bumped each other, somehow always ending up on the ground, Snowy on Tintin, attacking him with a shower of licks.

"Stop! Stop it, Snowy I can't–!"

Then Tintin would burst into laughter again.

It was hard to believe that, only weeks ago, Haddock was dragging him out of a sea of polyester, begging him to wake up and breathe…

Haddock shook his head and grinned, chasing the thought away. How could he think of that now? Everything was all right, by thunder. He has enough problems managing his estate without all _that_.

Tintin came up to him, wiping sweat from his forehead, Snowy tailing him as usual. "Is everything all right, captain?"

"Never been better, lad, never been better."

How couldn't it be? The sun was shining, the sky was a beautiful shade of blue, and they were at Marlinspike, at home.

Safe and sound.

* * *

When Haddock woke up in the middle of the night to a cry of terror, he knew at once that everything was _not_ all right. He leaped out of the bed, stumbling down the dark corridors towards the direction of Tintin's room. Already he could hear Snowy's barking, and it chilled him how easily he found his way to the lad's room. His body must've memorized the path going there.

"Tintin, what's going on? Robbers? Vagabonds? _Assassins_?" Haddock swung open the door and found Tintin wide awake, sitting up in bed and breathing hard. Snowy was already beside him, nuzzling his side to try and calm his master down.

"It's a dream, only a dream, ohh..." Tintin said, burying his face into his hands.

Haddock gathered him up into a tight embrace, running his hand through Tintin's hair. "Yes, it's all right now, shh." Gently he began cradling him back and forth like a child, humming under his breath to try and soothe Tintin's nerves. And somehow, though he would not admit it, it settled him as well. Eventually, slowly, gradually, Tintin's breathing slowed, his heart lulled back into a regular rhythm and the terror drained from his face.

Gulping, Tintin nodded thanks.

"What is it _this_ time?" Haddock asked.

"Mud."

"What?"

"I was in the forest with Snowy." As if recognizing his name, Snowy bounded up onto Tintin's lap and sat there. A smile, then Tintin continued with his story. "We were running from–from a crocodile chasing us. He was fast–then I stumbled into quagmire–I got trapped–it pulled me under and I couldn't breathe–I couldn't call for help and—"

**_(Nightmares, as it is with dreams, are_ not _exactly the traumatic event. It can include an aspect of it, such a sensation (like what I did here) or an emotion such as helplessness, fear or disgust, among others. All I could think of to refer to Alph-Art was something sticky like the polyester—and mud came to mind.)_**

He took a deep breath in, then sank back into his bed, his arm shielding his eyes. "I don't even know anymore. This is..."

"Confounded?" Haddock offered. "Must be that program you watched at—what—10:00 pm? Son, you've got to let up those travel shows and get to sleep earlier. See what's happening to you!"

**_(Nightmares can also be influenced by the content of what you watched or saw during the day.)_ **

Lifting his arm from his face, Tintin smiled. "I feel better now," he said. His voice was tired, hoarse. "You can go back to sleep now, captain."

"By thunder, I'm not going until you get back to sleep, son."

"Captain, I can take care of myself. Go back to bed, I'll be _fine_."

With a mutter Haddock left, leaving Tintin alone in the darkness again. Snowy was lying on his stomach, and he let him stay there for a while, partly for the warmth and partly for the company.

He hated worrying Haddock. For some reason the solemn verdict that the doctor had given after their brief sojourn on the moon kept echoing in his mind whenever he saw the captain under stress.

_Less whiskey and smoking should do him fine, with a lot of rest. No more adventures, do you understand? His heart is not as strong as it was, no matter what he tells you. Oh, and one more thing, please keep him out of trouble, will you? Stress might trigger a heart attack and, well..._

**_(If you hadn't read the comic, there was this little shock about Haddock not waking up right away after their trip to the moon. When whiskey was mentioned, though, he popped right up.)_ **

Words kindly spoken and even more kindly meant. Yet here they were, gnawing at him, making him worry even more about Haddock, much more so than himself.

Tintin thought that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, but the night lulled him into another troubled, disturbed slumber, the lingering thoughts of death and bereavement whirring faintly in his mind.

* * *

The next night, Tintin switched the television on, Haddock by his side.

"No more of that blasted program, you understand?"

"Yes, captain."

He lazily flipped through the channels until he found one narrating the history of a certain country. Seeing this, he perked up.

Tibet.

Tintin's mind began to recall that fateful journey to find Tchang, wandering off to one of those cursed winter nights, huddling for shelter from the snow...

* * *

The snow-capped mountains should've awed Tintin, but not today. It'd felt like an eternity, merely climbing the mountain, not to mention reaching the crash site, and now he was exhausted. So was Haddock, who, as soon as he'd gotten his sleeping bag ready and tied the tarp around the airplane's skeleton, had fallen asleep, gently snoring. He and Tharkey had taken the head of the plane, Tintin taking the tail.

"Come on, Snowy."

Snowy had the teddy bear they found earlier in his mouth, shaking it and toying with it. When he heard his master's call, though, he headed right back, curling on top of Tintin, head poking just above the blanket. They went to sleep.

At least, Snowy did.

Tintin had no such luck.

Sure, he fell asleep soon after out of fatigue, but he mustn't have tied the tarp right–he kept waking up in the night to it flapping and billowing from the wind, and he'd had to get up, tie it, and go back to sleep. Even if he knew in his mind that he had to rest for tomorrow, he couldn't push through with the action. Eventually, though, his body took over and more or less shut him down.

_Tintin sat in the pilot's seat of an airplane, tied tight, the ropes digging into his body. He saw the pilot leap out of the doomed vessel, leaving him alone._

_No one was there–not even Snowy._

_This wasn't the first time this happened, and Tintin's mind started to rush in fast-forward, shouting orders to his body on what they had to do. Take control, try to keep in flight, find a strip of land. Keep head clear._

_Still, his body could not, would not move. At every move he could hear his bones grinding together in a sickening, crunching sound, but there was no pain–only stiffness. An unbearable stiffness that had nothing to do with the ropes holding him down._

_His breath came in short gasps, his ribcage shuddering with each gasp. Looking up at the glass before him, he saw the snow-capped mountains of Tibet, rising up faster and faster to meet him—_

Tintin's eyes flew open and he choked back a scream and turned it into a quiet whimper of distress.

**_(Now this is closer to some of the real things that happened to Tintin, but there is still a twist by his brain—namely, his helplessness, when in the real situation from where it is derived he was actually able to do something.)_ **

_SafesafeI'msafe_

He sat up and pulled his blanket closer, noticing only now how cold he was. Glancing to his side, he saw Snowy rouse, blink at him, then go straight back to sleep. Lucky dog.

"I guess animals don't get insomnia, do they?" Tintin muttered, then looked at the tarp, blowing freely in the thrashing wind.

* * *

After a while Tintin had managed to master his nightmares, managing to only take a gasp and abandon the screaming. This gave Haddock the illusion that, maybe, Tintin's night terrors had finally passed.

"Having better nights now?" Haddock had asked Tintin one morning at breakfast. "No more confounded dreams?"

"Not anymore. I think I've shaken it off at last." Tintin smiled. **_(Liiiaaarrrr...)_**

Haddock completely believed him.

That is, until after their trip to Syldavia.

With all the cursed chasing around alleyways and streets, Haddock was satisfied to lean back in his hammock, looking out over his grounds. It was a less-than-perfect day, with the sun shaded by the clouds bathing everything in a dull, greyish atmosphere. The cold breezes chilled his old bones, and after a while he'd had to pack his things up and head back into the much warmer interior of Marlinspike.

"Where's Tintin?" Haddock asked, hanging his coat on one of the hooks near the door. "Is he off on another adventure? That lad, never gets tired..."

Nestor blinked, clutching what looked like a bowl of water. "Don't you know, sir?" he asked dryly.

"Know? Know what?"

"Mm. Tintin isn't awake yet, sir."

"What do you mean? He wakes up _hours_ earlier than I do." _Something's wrong._ "I'll go wake him up."

**_(Or at least I assume he does. A little headcanon of mine. Plus, his nightmares and insomnia.)_ **

"But–"

Haddock walked past Nestor, who was, yet again, ignored. Reaching Tintin's room, he swung the door open–

"Good morning, captain!"

–and saw the lad calmly reading a book, Snowy by his side. Perfectly normal.

Haddock let himself a small sigh of relief. "Come, lad, you got me worried. Sleeping in?"

"It's _Saturday_. And I don't have any deadlines yet or new reports, so..."

"Taking advantage of the break while it's still there?"

Tintin smiled–a little faintly, Haddock suddenly noticed. "Is everything all right?"

A pause. "Yes, of course," Tintin said, a confused expression on his face. "Why?"

Haddock eyed him suspiciously, then shrugged.

* * *

Night came.

Haddock was dreaming about the sea and guns when Nestor came knocking on his door at about 11:00 in the night. 

**_(I'm sure Haddock would have weirder dreams than this.)_ **

"Sir?" More knocking. "Sir–"

Groaning, he opened his door. "Blistering barnacles, do you know what time it is?"

"It's Tintin."

"What about him?"

"His fever, sir. It's getting worse."

Haddock did a double-take. "His _what_? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

**_(As if you weren't used to the kid yet, Haddock. Lol)_ **

"Because Tintin said that he was all right, sir, and–"

Haddock pushed past Nestor, who froze in place. **_(Poor Nestor.)_** He raced down the halls and swung open the door to Tintin's room, barging in as quietly as possible without waking the boy. "Get me a chair, Nestor," he ordered, pressing the back of his hand to Tintin's forehead. Hissing, he pulled it away.

If Tintin didn't look too sick a few hours ago, he did now.

Sweat matted his hair, his cheeks flushed pink from the heat. He was muttering in his sleep, something within the lines of "I'm fine, I'm fine" before drifting off into a deeper and more troubled slumber. His fists curled around the blanket draped over him.

"Here's your chair, sir–"

"About time! Get me a bowl of cold water and a towel. And the doctor–get him here."

"Yes, sir."

As the night wore on, Tintin grew more and more agitated. Sooner than later, Nestor came with the bowl of water and a towel.

"The doctor will not be able to come until tomorrow morning, sire," Nestor said. "but he will come as soon as he can."

"Tomorrow?! Blistering barnacles, we can't wait until tomorrow!"

Huffing, Haddock periodically dabbed Tintin's face with the damp towel to try and cool him down. Even then Tintin was still restless, until finally, in the middle of the night, he was screaming.

"NOSTOPICAN'TDOTHISIDON'TWANTTODIEHELPME!"

**_(Some persons might react this way, while some may only toss and turn restlessly. Reactions vary—some may scream, some may not, all those stuff. It's really subjective, how you react.)_ **

The words spilled out of his mouth as one, and Haddock was chilled for good reason. He knew, though, that it was almost impossible to wake Tintin in the middle of a nightmare, and he had to sit by and endure the earsplitting cries. Eventually, if the nightmare was horrifying enough, he'd wake up.

**_(I don't know the_ exact _consequences of waking someone from a nightmare, but I have a feeling that it includes more anxiety and, of course, insomnia. Or the person might hallucinate the dreams when awoken. Hmm... needs more research. *shrugs*)_**

Still...

"It's all right, it's all right, son, Haddock's here," he said, clutching Tintin's hand. **_(Woot. I find that reeassuring, personally.)_**

For a moment Tintin's face contorted into a stricken expression and it seemed as if he was going to wake up.

Haddock was tempted to slap his face. 

_**(Is that OOC? Idk)** _

Then the tension drained from Tintin's face and his body relaxed, his breathing slowing down to a normal rhythm. After a few minutes, Tintin opened his eyes and gazed wearily around the room until it settled on Haddock. "Captain."

So quiet and still.

Haddock ran his thumb over Tintin's knuckles and ruffled his hair. **_(This, personally, makes me feel really nice and safe. I assume it's the same for Tintin—another headcanon of mine.)_** "How are you feeling?"

"Awful."

That got a chuckle out of him. At least he was honest this time.

"You'll be all right, son." _You always have been._

"Thanks, captain."

_We'll be okay. We always have been._

_Nothing can ever_ _change that._

**(Are you sure..? I'm just kidding lol)**


	3. Flashbacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Golden Fleece fanfic, because why not.  
> Even if you haven't watched the movie, don't fret—this stands alone quite nicely (I hope).

_**Trauma With** **Tintin** _ **: Flashbacks**

“It’s… okay,” Tintin finally said.

Haddock did _not_ share the same sentiments. Whirling around, he berated the insurance agent, Tintin looking up at the dilapidated vessel with the name _Toison D’or_ painted on its hull.

The _Golden Fleece._

He tried to imagine it as deserving of such a mystical name, but gave up.

“Blistering barnacles, Paparanic must take me for a fool! A fool! Why else would he hand this… this rusted tin can… to _me_?”

“But captain, I’m sure your friend gave you this in remembrance of him. Won’t you even look at it?”

Giving him a sideways look, Haddock huffed and climbed the gangplank, Tintin right behind him.

“Snowy!” Tintin whistled shrilly and on cue his dog came bounding up and into his arms.

They went into the cabins—two, all in all—and decided to look into Paparanic’s cabin first. Haddock seized the doorknob and started to pull, twist and turn it, to no avail. The door stubbornly stayed put. Letting out a string of curses he gave it a savage yank and the knob detached completely. 

"Billions of—!"

"May I?" Tintin took the doorknob, inserted it into the hole it left and carefully turned it and _pushed_.

The door swung freely.

He raised an eyebrow at Haddock, grinning as the captain pushed past him with a huff. "Please, Sir," Tintin said, escorting him inside.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Haddock snapped, understandably irritated.

" _SKWAAAK!_ I can hear you!"

Great. As if to top the horrid ship with a hypothetical cherry, a parrot sat on a stand, finding it convenient to greet its new visitors with an earsplitting caw. Nice, it was even red. Like a real cherry—but with feathers and a beak.

Looking around at the cabin's wooden walls and clutter, Tintin headed over to the bed and swiped his hand over the bed nearby, dust billowing up into his face and making him cough.

He froze.

Somehow, someway, he was no longer in the Golden Fleece, but around him he could still hear Haddock's gripes and Snowy's quiet growls. Wherever he was, the light was scanty, only enough for him to see the shadowy outlines of the sarcophagi lined up on either side of him, about his height. Pieces of paper were placed at the bottom of them, and he bent over to look at what was written on them. Before he could read what was on them, gas began to fill the room...

Then they were gone.

Snowy was licking his face, and for some reason he was kneeling on the ground. Haddock was crouching at his level, trying to get past an excited Snowy.

"By thunder, get out of the way!" Haddock picked Snowy up and placed the dog behind him, then turned back to a dazed Tintin. "Are you all right?"

Tintin, although very confused and hazy, looked up at his surroundings. Wooden walls. Haphazardly hung cloaks. The portrait of Paparanic gazing down at him. The feel of Haddock's arm on his shoulder. Snowy nosing him.

He shuddered, then nodded. "It's nothing, I was just..."

"Looking for something?"

Looking past Haddock, Tintin saw one of the crewhands peering into the cabin, obviously wondering what was going on.

"It—It doesn't matter, I can always... find it later."

Haddock helped Tintin up to his feet and nodded, both of them exchanging glances towards each other.

_Thank you,_ Tintin mouthed.

Haddock readjusted his cap in some sort of half-salute.

* * *

Soon after inspecting everything and having a not-so-polite-conversation with an unusually interested businessman who tried to buy the ship (a! whopping! 1 million! euros!), Haddock decided that if Paparanic _did_ mean him to have the ship, then thundering typhoons, the Golden Fleece will sail again! Tintin, never one to deny an adventure, graciously accepted Haddock's invitation to sail along with him.

Ah, the brine-tinged air and the eddying water under the boat—and of course, the captain's shouts of indignation. It felt good, to be back at the sea, where the air was heavy with vapor and the sky was as blue as his sweater...

Where everything was okay.

Snowy at his side. The sea. Captain Haddock.

It was all right.

Wasn't it?

Tintin whirled around, a chill running through him, his body seemingly alerted by something he couldn't see.

No.

Not everything was fine.

Water began lapping at his feet, but when he looked down he saw that he was still on the deck, his shoes on his feet. And yet the sensation of waves lapping at his ankles, then at his shins, then at his knees, continued to grow. His breath came in a shaky gasp and out in a huff. Trembling, he staggered to the cabin below, Snowy trying his best to keep up.

Flopping down on the dusty bed, Tintin listened to his heart hammering in his chest and his stomach churning inside him, the chill growing unbearable even as it was the middle of summer. Water surged, churned, eddied. Now it was up to his chest, pressing against his ribcage and compressing his lungs. He already knew what was happening, but he could hardly call for help—he didn't want to. Even as the cool, cold, salty ocean filled his mouth, his throat cramping up to keep him from breathing the water that wasn't there.

_ohnoohnoohno_

Snowy's bark rang through his skull in dull, muffled echoes.

_Ican'tbreatheIcan'tbreathe_

Trapped.

Like always.

_bang_

The door slammed open

Tintin jerked back, hitting the wall behind him. It was over. It was over. Over...

"Buffoons! Cursed cretins! Vagabonds! I'm telling you, I'm tired of that confounded handle! You hear me? I'm done with this cursed crew—"

Haddock marched into the room and whirled around, turning a crimson shade of red when he saw Tintin looking at him, two parts amused and confused. "Ah, well, not you, of course..."

"It's all right."

A pause, then Snowy sneezed.

"What are you doing down here?" Haddock sat down, ignoring the portrait of Paparanic glaring behind him.

"I got a little... seasick. Yeah, that's it, I felt nauseous all of a sudden..."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm all right now."

Haddock didn't pry. "What are you waiting for, then? Get up, I still have a word or two to say to those bashi-bazouks clumsying everything up—"

" _Clumsying_ _?"_ Tintin couldn't help but laugh. "I don't think there's such a word such as 'clumsying'..."

"Huh! Wait till you see those landlubbers."

* * *

Athens.

Tintin had never been to Athens, and he'd never imagined visiting here. When he and Haddock found the nosy businessman beginning to target them out for extermination _(cough—murder—cough)_ they began researching about who Paparanic really was, which led them to one of the deceased captain's friends, Midas Paphos. It happened that most of his expensive rugs were stored in the hold of the Golden Fleece, which they promptly returned. As a result, Midas invited them to his quarters to chat and have a drink or two.

To their delight, Midas was more than happy to regale them with his adventures with Paparanic, of how they conquered the country of Tetaragua a little over a week. "Oh, Paparanic, he knew an opportunity when he saw one, " Midas said, laughing. "We were his 'officials,' with all the mockery of a government. We left, carrying gold with us." He shook his head. "Talking about him, why have you come? Is it to bring me news of him? How is Paparanic?"

In the gentlest voice Tintin could muster, he explained that Paparanic was now sadly deceased.

Saying Midas was disappointed would be an understatement. He stood up, ready to tell them everything.

_bangbangbangbang_

Blood dribbled out of Midas's mouth and coursed out of his wounds, bright red. He sank to the ground.

"Blistering barnacles—someone call an ambulance!" Haddock shouted, checking their hosts's pulse—still there, though faint.

Tintin, frozen, stared at the ground in front of him. A pistol flew from the window behind them, hitting Haddock on the head.

"Confound it!" He picked it up.

A store attendant drew back the curtain to the room, and more than one customer peeked in to share in the fun. When they saw the body of Midas on the ground making a grand mess of his carpet, they soon found that this was _anything_ but fun.

"Call an ambulance, you fools!" Haddock said. "Tintin, come help me—"

He stopped midsentence.

* * *

_bangbangbang_

Tintin dashed into the room, barely dodging the bullets ripping through the door. He could feel the heat of the fire behind him, and he turned to see the flames hungrily eating the wallpaper, the beams, the roof, dark dense smoke packing the sickly sweet air. Sinking down to his knees, he pulled up his sweater up to his mouth.

_coughcough_

"Snowy!" _coughcough_

_I'mgoingtodieisitcurtainsclosedisthisthecodaofmylifehasthesunsetisitallover?!_

The sweet scent in the air began cradling him to sleep, pulling him deeper into its half-awake trance.

"Tintin!" It seemed familiar, odd...

"Tintin!" There it is again. Is it Death?

Slowly he opened his eyes.

_I'm not dead. I'm not dead._

Haddock was grabbing his shoulders, ordering him to look at him and process. His voice, as muffled and unintelligible as it was, comforted him, soothed him. _I didn't know Haddock then. I wasn't in Athens then. I'm older, taller. I've been working for years now. I have Snowy near me._

Tintin breathed.

_Safe. I'm safe._

* * *

The weary walls of yet another prison greeted them once more, as it had many, many times before. Haddock paced around their cell, distraught at the damage to his reputation that this misunderstanding had just caused him and Tintin. A murderer, him? Nonsense!

"Nitwits! Blackguards! Rouges!" He kicked the wall.

Tintin looked up at him, hazy and in a deep daze. He could more or less understand what Haddock was griping about, but he couldn't bring himself to even _say_ anything. Meanwhile, the captaqin amused himself by abusing the wall verbally and physically.

"Look at this mess we've gotten into," Haddock muttered.

Kick.

"Horrible."

Kick.

"An injustice!"

Kick.

"Blasted, blithering—"

"Captain," Tintin said with an effort, voice hoarse and heavy. "stop. It's not helping."

Silence.

For a moment Haddock seemed surprised that Tintin had spoken, then sighed and gave the wall one last flimsy kick, his toes pulsing with the force.

"What's going on with you?"

"Huh?"

In a gentler voice, Haddock repeated the question. When Tintin didn't exactly react, Haddock sat beside him and offered a lopsided smile of sorts—more like a grimace. He carefully chose his words until he settled on the right ones.

"Blistering barnacles, I'm not complaining Tintin, but _this!_ This is on a different level, son, and heaven forbid that I act as if nothing is happening! I've helped you once—would you not let me assist you once more?"

Tintin was completely grounded in reality by now, and he scrambled for an explanation. "I'm okay, really, I was just... overwhelmed with everything and..." He shrugged.

Although Haddock was bursting with questions, he held himself back yet again.

"I'm concerned," he said, voice pinched. Not bad. He was getting good at this.

"I just—! I _don't_ want to talk about. I don't, it's too much and... I know you want to help, captain, but not right now. Please, leave me alone. I'm not ready for this."

"All right."

Tintin almost continued on arguing. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me."

"I'm sorry, what?"

Haddock took deep breaths in and out, swallowing down his raging thoughts

"It's all right, son, if you don't want to say."

Breath.

"There are some things that you've gone through that I know is hard to talk about."

Breath.

"Everyone does."

Breath.

"But I want you to know that if you need anything, or if it's too much for you, I'm here—we're here."

Breath.

"So son, I'll ask you now, is there anything I can do for you?"

Deep breath.

For a few ,long, agonizing seconds Tintin and Haddock stared at each other, each holding the other's gaze rather stiffly.

"Oof!"

Haddock found himself trapped inside Tintin's arms in an awkward embrace, which he returned with a nod.

"Thanks, but I can't think of anything right now."

"Always—I mean, of course—always here, as I said," Haddock stammered.

Their cell door opened and Tintin turned to see the Thom(p)sons. "What are you two doing here?"

"All in the line of business, Tintin..."

Haddock watched the three talk, and he sighed. 

_Maybe not today..._

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The deconstruction will come later, hopefully.
> 
> Fun fact, this is my first Tintin fanfic. >:3
> 
> Comments and feedback would be appreciated.


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